The Coming of Mr. Quin by Agatha Christie Page B

me. To bring luck to the house it must be a dark man who first steps over the door step on New Year’s Day. Dear me, I hope I shan’t find anything very unpleasant in my bed. I never trust the children. They have such very high spirits.’
    Shaking her head in sad foreboding, Lady Laura moved majestically up the staircase.
    With the departure of the women, chairs were pulled in closer round the blazing logs on the big open hearth.
    â€˜Say when,’ said Evesham, hospitably, as he held up the whisky decanter.
    When everybody had said when, the talk reverted to the subject which had been tabooed before.
    â€˜You knew Derek Capel, didn’t you, Satterthwaite?’ asked Conway.
    â€˜Slightly – yes.’
    â€˜And you, Portal?’
    â€˜No, I never met him.’
    So fiercely and defensively did he say it, that Mr Satterthwaite looked up in surprise.
    â€˜I always hate it when Laura brings up the subject,’ said Evesham slowly. ‘After the tragedy, you know, this place was sold to a big manufacturer fellow. He cleared out after a year – didn’t suit him or something. A lot of tommy rot was talked about the place being haunted of course, and it gave the house a bad name. Then, when Laura got me to stand for West Kidleby, of course it meant living up in these parts, and it wasn’t so easy to find a suitable house. Royston was going cheap, and – well, in the end I bought it. Ghosts are all tommy rot, but all the same one doesn’t exactly care to be reminded that you’re living in a house where one of your own friends shot himself. Poor old Derek – we shall never know why he did it.’
    â€˜He won’t be the first or the last fellow who’s shot himself without being able to give a reason,’ said Alex Portal heavily.
    He rose and poured himself out another drink, splashing the whisky in with a liberal hand.
    â€˜There’s something very wrong with him,’ said Mr Satterthwaite, to himself. ‘Very wrong indeed. I wish I knew what it was all about.’
    â€˜Gad!’ said Conway. ‘Listen to the wind. It’s a wild night.’
    â€˜A good night for ghosts to walk,’ said Portal with a reckless laugh. ‘All the devils in Hell are abroad tonight.’
    â€˜According to Lady Laura, even the blackest of them would bring us luck,’ observed Conway, with a laugh. ‘Hark to that!’
    The wind rose in another terrific wail, and as it died away there came three loud knocks on the big nailed doorway.
    Everyone started.
    â€˜Who on earth can that be at this time of night?’ cried Evesham.
    They stared at each other.
    â€˜I will open it,’ said Evesham. ‘The servants have gone to bed.’
    He strode across to the door, fumbled a little over the heavy bars, and finally flung it open. An icy blast of wind came sweeping into the hall.
    Framed in the doorway stood a man’s figure, tall and slender. To Mr Satterthwaite, watching, he appeared by some curious effect of the stained glass above the door, to be dressed in every colour of the rainbow. Then, as he stepped forward, he showed himself to be a thin dark man dressed in motoring clothes.
    â€˜I must really apologize for this intrusion,’ said the stranger, in a pleasant level voice. ‘But my car broke down. Nothing much, my chauffeur is putting it to rights, but it will take half an hour or so, and it is so confoundedly cold outside –’
    He broke off, and Evesham took up the thread quickly.
    â€˜I should think it was. Come in and have a drink. We can’t give you any assistance about the car, can we?’
    â€˜No, thanks. My man knows what to do. By the way, my name is Quin – Harley Quin.’
    â€˜Sit down, Mr Quin,’ said Evesham. ‘Sir Richard Conway, Mr Satterthwaite. My name is Evesham.’
    Mr Quin acknowledged the introductions, and dropped into the chair that Evesham had hospitably